


Huddle Up

by morrezela



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cuddling, Huddling For Warmth, M/M, Sibling Incest, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-03
Updated: 2015-06-03
Packaged: 2018-04-02 16:49:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4067377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morrezela/pseuds/morrezela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam forgets to plug the Impala’s block heater in. Dean isn’t happy about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Huddle Up

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Very much not mine. Sam, Dean and all the Supernatural crew belong to the CW and the crazed mind of Eric Kripke. I’m not getting any monetary recompense from this.
> 
> Warnings: Wincest, covert groping
> 
> A/N: his is my first fill for my 2013 trope bingo card. The square is “huddle for warmth.”
> 
> If you don’t know what a block heater is, you might be confused.

“I can’t believe you forgot to plug the car in,” Dean bitches for the fifth time in an hour.

“I said I was sorry,” Sam whines. It isn’t like he isn’t already suffering for his mistake, okay? He’s freezing his ass off right alongside his brother here. He knows what he did wrong.

“Engines don’t turn over when it’s this far below zero, Sammy,” Dean continues to gripe.

“I know,” Sam says.

“And now, now my baby is sitting in an impound lot. An impound lot where she’s cold and lonely and getting leered at by cops that speak in Fargo accents.”

“Fargo is in North Dakota, Dean.”

“So?”

“We’re in Minnesota. Different region, different accent.”

“Bite me, Sammy. No wait. Don’t. Don’t need your spit freezing on my neck,” Dean grumbles as he shifts closer, burying the tip of his cold nose into the top of Sam’s parka. “This is not awesome,” he mumbles into the puffy, Thinsulate stuffed material.

“Your whining never is,” Sam snaps back even as he tugs his brother closer and wedges his gloved hands into the back pockets of Dean’s jeans. Hot ass is not just a metaphor when it comes to Dean. His butt is a furnace, blessed with high metabolism and body temperature even though most of the time all does is Dean sit around on it eating bar food.

“Copping a feel?” Dean says as he punches Sam in the stomach before balling both of his fists between them, trapping his appendages in a cozy wall of Winchester abdomens.

“You wish,” Sam mutters.

“Wish you were really a yeti instead of doing a good impersonation of one,” Dean corrects.

“I said I was sorry,” Sam reminds him.

“Sorry doesn’t fix it. We should be in Iowa or even Kansas right now, driving along in my nice, heated car. Instead my engine was frozen solid when we tried to run from the cops because you forgot to plug the damned block heater in.”

“Retelling the story isn’t going to fix anything,” Sam reminds him.

“It makes me feel better as I lose feeling in my toes.”

“You’re such a baby,” Sam tells him.

“It’s fucking way below zero out there,” Dean whines. “Man is not built for that.”

“I found us a house to squat in, didn’t I?” Sam asks as he gives Dean’s ass a little squeeze. He makes sure that his grip is tight to the point of hurting, because, well… Dean means the whole copping a feel thing as a joke. Sam can’t actually let him know that he’s earnestly getting some groping in on the sly. Making it hurt a little just makes the groping brotherly instead of _brotherly_.

Dean grumbles and sticks one of his legs between Sam’s, pulling them closer together. It could be a potentially embarrassing situation except for the fact that they’re both fully armed from the exorcism that they’d been performing, and they’re dressed up like arctic explorers.

f Dean does manage to feel something inappropriate through the layers of insulation, Sam’s answer is going to be, “Why yes, that is my gun in my pocket. And no, I’m not happy to see you.”

“Minnesotans, man,” Dean says a moment later. “Freaks of nature. You see what they were wearing? That dude didn’t have a hat on. He wasn’t wearing gloves!”

“Acclimatization,” Sam reasons, hand squeezing Dean’s ass again. It seriously is not fair that it is so muscular when Dean does so little to maintain it.

“Hey, what’s that for?” Dean asks.

“Being a jerk,” Sam easily covers for his wayward hands.

“At least the local yokels won’t be used to people breaking into their impound lots,” Dean notes a few moments later.

“Are you being optimistic? Is it the exposure to elements? Should I call an ambulance?” Sam teases

“Well, they probably remember to plug their ambulances in, so…”

“Dean, you ever hear about horses and beating dead ones?” Sam growls.

“I wouldn’t know about horses, Sammy. I drive a car. A car who you…”

“That,” Sam interrupts, “the car is a ‘that.’ It is not a person just because you have a personal obsession with it.”

“She’s gonna know you said that about her. Don’t be casting wounded looks at me if the ride on the passenger’s side gets a little bumpy.”

“I’m going to come out of a motel room someday to find you humping the Impala, aren’t I?” Sam asks in his longsuffering, younger brother voice.

“You’ve got a dirty mind, Sammy. My love for Baby is a pure one.”

Sam just grunts in response, pushing farther into Dean’s heat. The drag of all of the blankets against his clothing is uncomfortable, but at least they’re keeping some of the warmth in. He’s lucky to have found a place that was empty and still had beds and all of the amenities that go with them.

The water constantly running through the faucets makes him get up and pee more often than he’d like, but overall it is better than getting arrested and possibly shipped off to prison even if it is unfairly cold. He doubts that the family that actually lives in the house would’ve left if the furnace had been working, so it’s a miracle they have some shelter in the first place

The owners are probably going to be scared when they come back to the house to find all of their blankets heaped onto one bed, but Sam knows from experience that Dean won’t be signing up to put things back in place. The Winchesters have already been made by the authorities. There is no reason for subtlety when they make their escape. The family they are ‘borrowing’ the house from  is lucky that Dean finds dripping faucets soothing. He wouldn’t have any compunction about shutting them off and freezing their pipes.

“So, next case is going to be somewhere warm, right?” Dean asks. “Somewhere with year-round beaches and girls in bikinis?”

“So I can listen to you bitch about sunburn and your delicate, fair skin?” Sam shoots back even as he internally groans at the thought. Dean has no body image issues, and is more than willing to flaunt the muscles that grave digging has given him. Sam likes those muscles. He just doesn’t want anybody but himself to know that.

“You’re just jealous,” Dean accuses sleepily.

“Yeah, I’m jealous of your ability to look like a freckled tomato,” Sam deadpans. “Seriously, Dean. Some of us actually tan in the sunlight.”

Dean stiffens in Sam’s arms. And. Oh. Yeah. Sam used the ‘F’ word. There is _one_ body image issue that Dean has, even if Sam thinks it is the stupidest one in the world. If he was Dean, he’d at least obsess over the way his ears stick out from his head or something.

“I don’t have freckles,” Dean sulks.

That makes Sam laugh. “Dude, they’re all over your body.”

“Are not,” Dean denies.

“ _All. Over_.” Sam emphasizes. “I wouldn’t be shocked if your dick was freckled.”

“That’s it,” Dean says as he starts to struggle away, “I’m finding another igloo to squat in.”

Sam digs his fingers into that round, pert ass and drags his brother back the scant half an inch he managed to wriggle away. It isn’t like Dean was making an honest effort to move, and it gives Sam some quality groping. It is a win-win situation.

“You’re such a prima donna,” Sam tells him. “Now snuggle up and go to sleep.”

“If we freeze to death, I’m not haunting this place with you,” is Dean’s final threat as he drifts off to sleep.

Sam figures that maybe he can be nice and find them a hunt in Florida next. After all, board shorts and books have been hiding his inappropriate erections for years now. He’s a Winchester. Suffering is part of the job description.


End file.
